Fanfiction > Naruto > Open-Ended > "Makeup The Breakdown"
Title: Makeup The Breakdown
Fandom: Naruto (Sai/Sasuke)
Word count: 1894
Notes: A first person experiment with Sai (and Sasuke). Kind of an odd, impromptustyle; I’m not sure if I like it yet.
(AU, due to chapters 302 and above.)
Makeup The Breakdown
The world was spinning. I had made sure the room was secure before I pressed my cheek against the cold, steal desk they had provided with the room and bed. The world was spinning; the kind of feeling (not emotion) one falls into after too many turns. My head presses into the desk harder and fingers find the cold edges. I close my eyes.
What did he do to me?
And I can feel the pressure in the room coming down, like water, water pressure, pounding into my skull. A shuttering breathe. I draw my self back up, back straight and eyes foreword. There’s something there that wasn’t there before, something clawing me from behind. I swallow. It claws back.
I breathe again. Did he instill it in me? Fear? Is that what this thing is?
I shut my eyes again, push it back, far back, and breathe. Impossible. The little creature, monster, animalistic feeling (emotion) won’t die. I can’t. I breathe and repeat the mantra. My mission. Failure is not an option, my defect will have to be dealt with later, for now: my mission.
I am ROOT. I have no past, not future. There is only my mission.
I am ROOT. I have no past, not future. There is only my mission…
I am ROOT. I am ROOT. I have no past, no… There is only my mission…
I am ROOT. I am Sai. I have no emotion, no fear. There is only my mission. Failure is not an option. Not an option.
…
Seven seconds. Twelve hours. Two days later. Naruto and team evaded.
The base has moved into Grass Country. (Danzou-sama has been notified.) The field is large, prairie-like, filled with round boulders, gray and coarse, and the sun rises over an untitled hill lolling in green. Charcoal cannot capture the vibrancy of the grass.
My ears peek at the sound. Footsteps to my back. My scroll is ready.
Tread is noticeable, familiar, Sound leggings brush the grass. My hand methodically works across the paper and the hill and the green, green grass. The footsteps stop when he is in range (perhaps he didn’t know of my habit, perhaps he did). My scroll is ready.
There is a cold foreboding crawling up my back, more noticeable this time than ever. I lower the charcoal and turn toward my watcher.
“Good morning, Sasuke-kun.”
The kunai could not have removed the smile, and it embeded somewhere deep in the grass.
Uchiha Sasuke is standing among the stalks with those eyes. Swallow once, breathe twice, and hope. Green, green and those dark robes, mauve and black - aesthetic properties all about him.
“Don’t fucking use ‘-kun’.”
Loathing is the most beautiful expression the human face can produce (yet I cannot) and Uchiha Sasuke is statuesque in his antipathy. Swallow. In light, this is the first time I can see him distinctly. They didn’t lie--
“And wipe that fucking smile off you face.”
-- about anything.
“It seems that our first meeting was unsuccessful.” I have dropped the smile, but only to something soft, enough to keep my lips in a controlled line. My eyes continue. “Under the circumstances it was understandable. I feel it necessary to properly introduce myself again, since we will be seeing much of each other…”
“I don’t care.”
“That’s not what your face says, Sasuke-ku-- !”
The grass is crushed under us; his weight on me, the edge of another kunai bites my neckline. He is far too sensitive (like Naruto-kun, like Sakura-chan). I can feel the ink running across the scroll, a waste, but the newly born sun illuminates Sasuke.
The kunai is pressed harder -- a tough situation. I smile.
“You look like him.”
He glares (beautiful) and his eyes twirl once (transfixing). “What are you talking about?”
“A man I once killed.” [1]
There may be disgust in his eyes but this he hides well, instead I am pulled up and thrown into the rock I was originally seated on. My back lands badly and I feel the bruise form. Failure is not an option. I let myself slide down and watch him from just above the stems.
He is disgusted now and turns away, but I know he is not willing to show me his back. I push myself up without bothering to clear the dirt and vegetation from my clothing.
“I want you to do it again.”
He stops in mid-step and I think, perhaps, I have shocked him. I would like to see his expression. When he does turn, he is dangerous and I think I have summoned the wanted result.
“What did you say?”
“You attacked we with your Sharingan. Do it again.”
He is hesitant. Good, Orochimaru-sama has atleast passed some sense to the boy. But the Sannin has not prepared him for someone asking for the attack. He will not comply, I assume, because the jutsu is too valuable. One would not show an enemy their weapon unless it served a purpose (a warning).
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“I’ll offer a trade. How long is it since you have seen your friends, Sakura, Naruto, your sensei, Kakashi? Perhaps you have not heard of their new jutsus. Kakashi’s might interest you.”
He smirks and I think the glare suits his face much better. “What the hell do I care about them?”
He can sense it, but I leave my face stony. I swallow once, breathe twice, lick my drying lips. The smile is gone from my eyes. “What do you want?”
There is only my mission. Failure is not an option. Not. An. Option.
He contemplates it. I did not think he would. It’s… hopeful.
“You really are a sick freak.” And he is gone, and I exhale.
The ink had drained over my scrolls (new ones will be requested) and the untitled hill lies unfinished. I listen to him leave, because I can hear him move, until he is out of range. Slowly, methodically, I pick up the papers, my sketchbook, and the scrolls, placing everything in the correct order and position. The sun is higher when I step back into the base.
I am ROOT. I have no past, not future. There is only my mission.
I am ROOT. There is only my mission. No past. No future. Only the mission. No failure… No fear.
Only the mission. No failure.
…
Five hours. Four days later. Movement planned for tomorrow, location unknown.
My fingers shake and the line I draw down the paper is misshapen. I tear it out (failure) and begin again.
Shaking again. I breathe and breathe again. My hand shakes, the hole the clawing creature has made is large (void) and it’s pulling me in. Slowly. I drop the brush to the floor; black ink splatters across the wood. I push the pad off my lap and hold my sides.
No past. No future. No failure… No fear.
I make my way to the door and out of the dim little room into a dimmer hall, light every nine yards from flimsy electric lights that paint the purest white a sick yellow-green. My face must match my insides.
I look for him in the field, I look among the halls, in the dungeons, among the dying and dead even, and then I look everywhere over again. Finally. He stands outside a door (private quarters?) and snaps his attention straight to me. I don’t stop approaching until single a yard separates us.
“What the hell do you want?”
His voice is superior, he has become to accustom to the other servants and plebeians residing within the Sound. I am not one of them and, perhaps since his last bout, he has forgotten I am a ninja, too.
It is within the millisecond; once his back has hits the wall my mouth is already over his. Both hand preoccupied cupping his face and I have no ability to block the kunai from entering my side and sliding between two lower ribs and entering my left lung. I feel the penetration and the loss of breath when the other hand punches me back.
His eyes are wild and wide, there may also be flush in his cheeks, but the image and sensation engulf me before I can fully account. The single sharingan hovers above my head and around me the lines of red and black; it is not only in the image, but the feeling that surrounds the image. Claustrophobia, nausea, impending doom assault me and I stumble back.
My arm brushes the kunai in my side and I remove it without a single thought, my eyes are trained to the sharingan and the tomos, which begin to fade. I cling to the image. The world outside begins to return and the red haze melts away.
Energy. Gone. I feel myself fall, but with enough detachment to let myself collapse and cling to the image and feeling. There’s a wetness running down my forehead again and I can’t help but feel something shatter.
Uchiha Sasuke stands against the wall, the back of his hand to his mouth and his eyes still illumined in yellow sick light. He stares with an expression of utter shock still in his eyes. He is fifteen, according to his report. I wonder if I have stolen… it is insignificant in the first place and I break the thought.
My body is heavy against the cold ground; the liquid against my arm is warm. When I look at Uchiha Sasuke again I can see a faint resemblance, just in the expression. There is little difference in the exposition of betrayal and surprise on the human face. For a moment he looks…
My own face swims in my vision - his face.
I am ROOT. I have no past. No future. Only my mission.
I am ROOT. I have no future. I have no… I have only my mission.
…
Six days. Base has moved to neutral land zone, twenty-six point four kilometers from the Sound boarder.
I will complete my mission. Danzou-sama has been notified that I was injured, but I will complete my mission.
I dreamed in the darkness. I dreamed about the mission (a different one) and his face and the blood and preparations and cleaning off the stained clothing - both from blood and the body’s last release. I dreamed and my hands don’t shake.
I drew the dream into another untitled paper but I do not have the Book. It causes concern. I have not yet reported the loss to either of my superiors. I have not reported the dream. Danzou-sama would begin to suspect and I am ROOT, I finish missions without failure.
I dreamed and Uchiha Sasuke avoids me. I have seen him only twice since the move. Each time his eyes promise death. I doubt he has reported my actions to his superiors. A punctured lung was an easy fix, whereas the cause was debatable but most likely assumed incorrectly.
(“It seems, that even with this smile, Sasuke-kun and I aren’t able to get along.”) Kabuto had pushed the glass up his nose and signed in his own mock resign.
Uchiha Sasuke was avoiding me, but in a base for only a hundred people, it was only a matter of time before we found ourselves in silence.
---
[1] This incoporates the theory of Sai killing his brother (the black haired boy in the Book) and taking his form (making him the white haired boy). Of course, it has been disproved.
Fandom: Naruto (Sai/Sasuke)
Word count: 1894
Notes: A first person experiment with Sai (and Sasuke). Kind of an odd, impromptustyle; I’m not sure if I like it yet.
(AU, due to chapters 302 and above.)
Makeup The Breakdown
The world was spinning. I had made sure the room was secure before I pressed my cheek against the cold, steal desk they had provided with the room and bed. The world was spinning; the kind of feeling (not emotion) one falls into after too many turns. My head presses into the desk harder and fingers find the cold edges. I close my eyes.
What did he do to me?
And I can feel the pressure in the room coming down, like water, water pressure, pounding into my skull. A shuttering breathe. I draw my self back up, back straight and eyes foreword. There’s something there that wasn’t there before, something clawing me from behind. I swallow. It claws back.
I breathe again. Did he instill it in me? Fear? Is that what this thing is?
I shut my eyes again, push it back, far back, and breathe. Impossible. The little creature, monster, animalistic feeling (emotion) won’t die. I can’t. I breathe and repeat the mantra. My mission. Failure is not an option, my defect will have to be dealt with later, for now: my mission.
I am ROOT. I have no past, not future. There is only my mission.
I am ROOT. I have no past, not future. There is only my mission…
I am ROOT. I am ROOT. I have no past, no… There is only my mission…
I am ROOT. I am Sai. I have no emotion, no fear. There is only my mission. Failure is not an option. Not an option.
…
Seven seconds. Twelve hours. Two days later. Naruto and team evaded.
The base has moved into Grass Country. (Danzou-sama has been notified.) The field is large, prairie-like, filled with round boulders, gray and coarse, and the sun rises over an untitled hill lolling in green. Charcoal cannot capture the vibrancy of the grass.
My ears peek at the sound. Footsteps to my back. My scroll is ready.
Tread is noticeable, familiar, Sound leggings brush the grass. My hand methodically works across the paper and the hill and the green, green grass. The footsteps stop when he is in range (perhaps he didn’t know of my habit, perhaps he did). My scroll is ready.
There is a cold foreboding crawling up my back, more noticeable this time than ever. I lower the charcoal and turn toward my watcher.
“Good morning, Sasuke-kun.”
The kunai could not have removed the smile, and it embeded somewhere deep in the grass.
Uchiha Sasuke is standing among the stalks with those eyes. Swallow once, breathe twice, and hope. Green, green and those dark robes, mauve and black - aesthetic properties all about him.
“Don’t fucking use ‘-kun’.”
Loathing is the most beautiful expression the human face can produce (yet I cannot) and Uchiha Sasuke is statuesque in his antipathy. Swallow. In light, this is the first time I can see him distinctly. They didn’t lie--
“And wipe that fucking smile off you face.”
-- about anything.
“It seems that our first meeting was unsuccessful.” I have dropped the smile, but only to something soft, enough to keep my lips in a controlled line. My eyes continue. “Under the circumstances it was understandable. I feel it necessary to properly introduce myself again, since we will be seeing much of each other…”
“I don’t care.”
“That’s not what your face says, Sasuke-ku-- !”
The grass is crushed under us; his weight on me, the edge of another kunai bites my neckline. He is far too sensitive (like Naruto-kun, like Sakura-chan). I can feel the ink running across the scroll, a waste, but the newly born sun illuminates Sasuke.
The kunai is pressed harder -- a tough situation. I smile.
“You look like him.”
He glares (beautiful) and his eyes twirl once (transfixing). “What are you talking about?”
“A man I once killed.” [1]
There may be disgust in his eyes but this he hides well, instead I am pulled up and thrown into the rock I was originally seated on. My back lands badly and I feel the bruise form. Failure is not an option. I let myself slide down and watch him from just above the stems.
He is disgusted now and turns away, but I know he is not willing to show me his back. I push myself up without bothering to clear the dirt and vegetation from my clothing.
“I want you to do it again.”
He stops in mid-step and I think, perhaps, I have shocked him. I would like to see his expression. When he does turn, he is dangerous and I think I have summoned the wanted result.
“What did you say?”
“You attacked we with your Sharingan. Do it again.”
He is hesitant. Good, Orochimaru-sama has atleast passed some sense to the boy. But the Sannin has not prepared him for someone asking for the attack. He will not comply, I assume, because the jutsu is too valuable. One would not show an enemy their weapon unless it served a purpose (a warning).
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“I’ll offer a trade. How long is it since you have seen your friends, Sakura, Naruto, your sensei, Kakashi? Perhaps you have not heard of their new jutsus. Kakashi’s might interest you.”
He smirks and I think the glare suits his face much better. “What the hell do I care about them?”
He can sense it, but I leave my face stony. I swallow once, breathe twice, lick my drying lips. The smile is gone from my eyes. “What do you want?”
There is only my mission. Failure is not an option. Not. An. Option.
He contemplates it. I did not think he would. It’s… hopeful.
“You really are a sick freak.” And he is gone, and I exhale.
The ink had drained over my scrolls (new ones will be requested) and the untitled hill lies unfinished. I listen to him leave, because I can hear him move, until he is out of range. Slowly, methodically, I pick up the papers, my sketchbook, and the scrolls, placing everything in the correct order and position. The sun is higher when I step back into the base.
I am ROOT. I have no past, not future. There is only my mission.
I am ROOT. There is only my mission. No past. No future. Only the mission. No failure… No fear.
Only the mission. No failure.
…
Five hours. Four days later. Movement planned for tomorrow, location unknown.
My fingers shake and the line I draw down the paper is misshapen. I tear it out (failure) and begin again.
Shaking again. I breathe and breathe again. My hand shakes, the hole the clawing creature has made is large (void) and it’s pulling me in. Slowly. I drop the brush to the floor; black ink splatters across the wood. I push the pad off my lap and hold my sides.
No past. No future. No failure… No fear.
I make my way to the door and out of the dim little room into a dimmer hall, light every nine yards from flimsy electric lights that paint the purest white a sick yellow-green. My face must match my insides.
I look for him in the field, I look among the halls, in the dungeons, among the dying and dead even, and then I look everywhere over again. Finally. He stands outside a door (private quarters?) and snaps his attention straight to me. I don’t stop approaching until single a yard separates us.
“What the hell do you want?”
His voice is superior, he has become to accustom to the other servants and plebeians residing within the Sound. I am not one of them and, perhaps since his last bout, he has forgotten I am a ninja, too.
It is within the millisecond; once his back has hits the wall my mouth is already over his. Both hand preoccupied cupping his face and I have no ability to block the kunai from entering my side and sliding between two lower ribs and entering my left lung. I feel the penetration and the loss of breath when the other hand punches me back.
His eyes are wild and wide, there may also be flush in his cheeks, but the image and sensation engulf me before I can fully account. The single sharingan hovers above my head and around me the lines of red and black; it is not only in the image, but the feeling that surrounds the image. Claustrophobia, nausea, impending doom assault me and I stumble back.
My arm brushes the kunai in my side and I remove it without a single thought, my eyes are trained to the sharingan and the tomos, which begin to fade. I cling to the image. The world outside begins to return and the red haze melts away.
Energy. Gone. I feel myself fall, but with enough detachment to let myself collapse and cling to the image and feeling. There’s a wetness running down my forehead again and I can’t help but feel something shatter.
Uchiha Sasuke stands against the wall, the back of his hand to his mouth and his eyes still illumined in yellow sick light. He stares with an expression of utter shock still in his eyes. He is fifteen, according to his report. I wonder if I have stolen… it is insignificant in the first place and I break the thought.
My body is heavy against the cold ground; the liquid against my arm is warm. When I look at Uchiha Sasuke again I can see a faint resemblance, just in the expression. There is little difference in the exposition of betrayal and surprise on the human face. For a moment he looks…
My own face swims in my vision - his face.
I am ROOT. I have no past. No future. Only my mission.
I am ROOT. I have no future. I have no… I have only my mission.
…
Six days. Base has moved to neutral land zone, twenty-six point four kilometers from the Sound boarder.
I will complete my mission. Danzou-sama has been notified that I was injured, but I will complete my mission.
I dreamed in the darkness. I dreamed about the mission (a different one) and his face and the blood and preparations and cleaning off the stained clothing - both from blood and the body’s last release. I dreamed and my hands don’t shake.
I drew the dream into another untitled paper but I do not have the Book. It causes concern. I have not yet reported the loss to either of my superiors. I have not reported the dream. Danzou-sama would begin to suspect and I am ROOT, I finish missions without failure.
I dreamed and Uchiha Sasuke avoids me. I have seen him only twice since the move. Each time his eyes promise death. I doubt he has reported my actions to his superiors. A punctured lung was an easy fix, whereas the cause was debatable but most likely assumed incorrectly.
(“It seems, that even with this smile, Sasuke-kun and I aren’t able to get along.”) Kabuto had pushed the glass up his nose and signed in his own mock resign.
Uchiha Sasuke was avoiding me, but in a base for only a hundred people, it was only a matter of time before we found ourselves in silence.
---
[1] This incoporates the theory of Sai killing his brother (the black haired boy in the Book) and taking his form (making him the white haired boy). Of course, it has been disproved.